


Vigil

by yunmin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Established Relationship, Extra Treat, Hobbie is a Walking Disaster, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pranks, Rogue Squadron, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2017, bed sharing, injury fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: Loving a man like Hobbie Klivian basically guarantees you an all access pass to the medical bay of any ship you are on, and a near guarantee that you might spend more time there than in your own quarters. But hey. That’s just what you do for love.Or: Five times Wes Janson sat by Hobbie’s bedside after he got injured in some way, shape or form, and one time Hobbie does the same for Wes.





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [virusq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/gifts).



**One:**

It’s a given that most of the Rogues are going to die in battle, somewhere up in space defending the lives of people they’ve never met. That’s what they _do_ , the entire reason they exist in the first place, formed from the ashes of Red Squadron and that infamous Death Star run.

Still, when Rogue Four went extra-vehicular in the middle of a fight, Wes can’t help the moment of fright that comes over him.

“Keep calm, Rogue Six.” Antilles somehow manages to be as cool as a cucumber under fire. It’s an admirable talent. And he catches Wes’s apprehension “I’ve got him marked, we’ll pick him up. Won’t be the first time.”

It’s not. Derek “Hobbie” Klivian’s medical record is longer than Wes’s arm. Three replacement limbs – though you’d never guess they weren’t real. Wes has seen where the synth skin joins real skin, sat there for hours trying to feel the difference, and not succeeded. So when Wes escapes to the medbay after everything is done, to check up on his bunk-mate, the news that Hobbie’s left leg was a casualty isn’t the horrifying news it could be.

“Worst thing is it’ll take them a week to build a replacement.” Hobbie sits in a white hospital bed, frighteningly unconcerned about the entire thing, as Wes tries to clamp down his worry. He’s better than this. He knows the risks. Why has this got to him so much? “It’s not a big deal.” Hobbie reaches out, with his one limb that is his own, and lays his hand over Wes’s. He smiles. “Go tell Commander Skywalker I’m fine.”

Luke already knows that, Wes isn’t here on orders or anything.

No, he’s here because he’s spent the last couple of months as much in Hobbie’s bed as he has his own, pushing the other man against walls around dark corners in quiet moments. It’s been a welcome distraction. But nothing more than that – or so he thought. Because maybe, whilst Wes wasn’t looking, he’s become quite attached to Hobbie.

Not that he’s about to mention that any time soon.

Hobbie’s given him an easy out, for the moment at least. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go do that.” Wes waves Hobbie off. “It’ll take them that long to source you a new X-Wing, so don’t worry too much.” Wes walks to the door, but he hesitates before leaving.

It leaves him standing in the doorway like an idiot, so of course Hobbie questions what on earth he thinks he’s doing.

“Nothing. Just. Glad you are alright.”

“Glad you’re okay too, you lump,” Hobbie responds. “Now go leave me in peace.”

.

**Two:**

The room is cool, but it’s blissful heat compared to the last several months that Hobbie has spent freezing his ass off on Hoth. Sleek grey steel is in front of him, not endless white. It makes a difference.

Though Hobbie wishes they’d all left Hoth voluntarily, rather than being forced out.

Hobbie guesses he did well enough to fly out under his own power, after he drove his snowspeeder into an AT-AT. But he’s paying for it now, in pain, and this looks like a medbay, and he’s hooked up to an IV of some kinda. When he glances to his left, he sees that Wes is curled up in the chair by his bedside. The outer jacket that had become standard issue is draped over the back of the chair. It doesn’t look like he’s changed since they flew out.

“Wes.” Hobbie tries to lift his arm to prod Wes in the side, but that sends a flood of pain down his shoulder, so he aborts that. Hobbie belatedly wonders whether he should even be trying to wake Wes, who probably hasn’t slept in force knows how many hours. “Wes, wake up.”

Wes stirs. He’s groggy as he does so, dark eyelashes fluttering. Some days, Hobbie thinks he likes Wes best when he’s sleeping, when his boyish features flatten out and go soft. If there was one thing that Hoth was good for, it was that they were all in and out of each other’s beds all the time. Wes had taken up near-permanent residence in Hobbie’s bunk, so Hobbie got to spend many mornings staring at that face. “Hobbs?”

“Yes, you idiot, come on.” Hobbie can’t help his impatience.

Wes gives Hobbie a long once over. “Thank the stars you’re alright, you had me worried sick.” His expression is oddly serious for a moment, a look that doesn’t become Wes, and then he’s leaning over and pulling Hobbie into a desperate hug, kissing the side of his face until Hobbie pushes him off.

“Geroff, Wes.” Wes manages to claim a kiss on the lips before he settles back down into his chair. There will be time for a proper reunion later, Hobbie thinks, when he isn’t near-fresh out of a Bacta tank and is fully healed. For now, everything still kinda hurts. “What’s got into you?” Hobbie asks. “I know our losses were bad, but we hit the evacuation point, the Rebellion survives.” _We survived_ , goes unspoken. Hobbie is glad of that fact too.

“Yeah, but the Falcon hasn’t.”

“Shit, Solo?”

“And the Princess, Han said he’d get her out too.” Wes sighs. “Gets worse though. There’s no sign of Luke.”

Hobbie scrunches his brow. He’d seen Luke get into his X-Wing, they all had, so why hadn’t he shown up? “He made it off Hoth though—”

“We think, yeah. But after that?” Wes shrugs. “Wedge is busy having kittens about it. They’ve brevetted him to Commander in the mean-time, which has great potential for hilarity.”

“Don’t prank Wedge, that’s just asking for trouble.” Hobbie grimaces, knowing that whatever plans Wes comes up with, he’ll get dragged into somehow.

“Eh. He’s got to be the responsible one now.” Hobbie shakes his head; Wedge has always been the responsible one. “Come on you.” Wes prods Hobbie, picking up the blanket on his bed. “Back to sleep. You need your rest, Wedge needs you fighting fit.”

He’s been sleeping for however many hours now, Hobbie thinks he’s well-rested enough. Certainly doing better than Wes, who has dark circles under his eyes. “You too,” he mutters, shuffling over in the bed. “Get that gear off and get in here.”

Wes raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t fight the order. He crawls into the bed next to Hobbie, wrapping his arms around the other man, placing a kiss to his shoulder in a surprising display of affection.

.

**Three:**

Wes turns around when he hears the door open. He wonders if it’s a medic, come to check on Hobbie, but it’s not. It’s just Wedge.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Wedge says, leaning up against the wall, and casting his eyes quickly over Hobbie. “He’s okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Wes says quickly. He’s spent the last three hours at Hobbie’s bedside, watching over the other man. That’s a regular enough occurrence.

Only this time, Hobbie hasn’t been sent to medical after an accident, hasn’t been injured in a battle. He’s sick because of something Wes egged him into, and the guilt from that is weighing on him.

“Look, no one could have expected that he’d turn out to have an incredibly rare allergy to Ithorian lamasc, it’s not your fault Wes.” Yeah, but Wes had been the one to dare him to eat the damn thing. Hobbie hadn’t even wanted to, but he’d done it because Wes had wanted it.

Wes clenches his fist. “He spends too much time in here already.”

Wedge nods. It’s weird, how much he’s transformed now that the burden of Rogue Squadron lies almost solely on his shoulders. Wes is starting to think he should make it his life’s mission to get Wedge to smile again, because he’s becoming a miserable geezer in his old age. “Well, he’s used to it. And you’ll be here when he wakes up, and that’ll make him feel better.”

Wes squints as Wedge, a little suspicious, a frown crossing his face. “He’s my friend, Wedge, and I did this to him, that’s why I’m here.”

“Wes, if you think that Luke and I don’t know about what’s going on, you really are a complete idiot.” Well, Wes didn’t think they were necessarily particularly discreet, but that didn’t mean he wanted to actually talk about it with anyone. “He’ll wake up soon enough, and you’ll tell him you love him and you won’t do it again – only you will, because that’s how you work – and you’ll both show up for duty in a couple of days like nothing happened.” Wedge smiles. “You’re off the duty roster until medical clears Hobbie, so you’ve got time. Not like there’s much going on right now anyway.”

“Wedge, you don’t—”

“Take it.” Damn it. Wedge is a romantic at heart, though approximately no one gets the chance to see that. “See you in a couple of days, Wes. I’ve got datawork to catch up on.”

He leaves Wes. Wes looks back to the bed, tangling his fingers in Hobbie’s cold hand, and keeps up his steady vigil.

.

**Four:**

Wes plonks himself down in the medbay, about an hour after they bring Hobbie in. Usually, medical object to uninjured pilots taking up space, but Wes and Hobbie have played this game so many damn times now that they don’t even ask, just work around Wes. He’s facing the Bacta tank that contains Hobbie’s floating body.

He always looks more vulnerable, when they remove the cybernetics. Wes has known for years that Hobbie’s lost three-quarters of his limbs along the line of this war, but he often forgets what it means. He looks small like this – he’s probably lost a third of his weight in one swoop – and not the man Wes knows.

Wes will tease Hobbie mercilessly for his reputation for near-death experiences, the number of crashed ships he’s left in his wake over the past years, but the truth is…

He hates it.

He stands up, taking a step forward so he can reach up and touch the Bacta tank. He leans his forehead against it. Hobbie’s unconscious whilst the Bacta works its magic, so this is as close as Wes can get. He speaks the words that he’s not sure he’d dare say when Hobbie was awake and around to hear them.

“Don’t do this to me,” Wes says, a desperate plea. “Don’t do this to me, Hobbie, not again, not now. Not whilst Tych’s off missing – screw the brass when they say he’s dead, he’s not, I know that, but we don’t know where he is – and Wedge is off on his bullshit press tour kissing babies and making off with ambassador’s wives. You and I are all each other’s got, you hear me?” He slaps his right hand against the tank. Hobbie can’t hear him. Wes wouldn’t be saying this if he could. They’ve been something to each other for so damn long now, and Wes still can’t quite choke up the words. “You’re all I’ve got.”

.

**Five:**

Wes knows that keeping the rest of the Rogues safe in quarantine on the Lusankya is the only sensible thing to do. He’d not been on Coruscant when the Krytos virus had spread, but he’d heard the stories and seen the aftermath.

It still hurts, to not have a proper reunion.

Oh sure, he’d gone in to see them. Heard Wedge’s whoop of delight, and seen his dance for joy. He hadn’t quite realised that, whilst he’d thought them all dead, they’d thought the same for him.

Wes came a lot closer to it than they did. Mirax, Iella and Booster all said it was a miracle that he had survived. He was no worse for it, apart from the blackness and the cold that crept up on him sometimes now, memories of lying in space. He’ll have to talk to someone about that, he knows, eventually. Probably Wedge, who has a similar near-death experience waiting in space, not thinking that he’d be rescued.

And Hobbie.

Wes had caught Hobbie’s eye, as Wedge had done that stupid, ridiculous dance for joy, and he’d shook his head. There will be time for their reunion later. Their relationship has always been conducted in private, though any one who’s been with the Squadron for longer than six months inevitably is aware of it. Wes respects his partner’s right to privacy.

But the month of quarantine stretches out long before them, and it’s five days before Wes grabs a bedding roll and makes his way down to where they are staying. He bullies his way past the guards – someone, probably Wedge, has allowed Wes access whenever he so chooses. The ‘viewing’ corridor is narrow, but it’s wide enough to take a bedroll.

Most of the Rogues are already settled for the night, or on their way to it. Hobbie’s talking with Wedge and Tycho, but his attention is caught by Wes. At a jerk of Wes’s head, he follows Wes to a corner, and Wedge – thank the stars for Wedge – turns away all the on lookers.

“What are you thinking, Wes?” Hobbie lifts an eyebrow, taking in the bedding roll Wes is spreading out along the floor, right next to the transparisteel partition. “Or not, as the case may be?”

“Shush, I’m trying to be nice!” Wes guesses he’s probably earned his reputation though. “Go get your bedding roll. I know you guys are camped out on the same things here.”

“Wes—”

“Just do it?” Wes pouts, and bats his eyelashes, and Hobbie may shake his head at the ridiculousness of it all but he does it.

“Everyone’s going to see,” Hobbie protests, as he lays his out alongside Wes’s, along the partition.

“I hate to tell you this, but we were probably the worst kept secret in the Rebellion, and I don’t think our time in the New Republic has really improved that.” Wes shuffles into his bedding roll, and then places a hand against the partition. “And besides, it not like we can actually cuddle or anything.” Though when quarantine releases, Wes is going to find a real bed and push Hobbie into it and not leave for the next three days.

“Yeah.” Hobbie places his hand on the partition, aligning it with Wes's. “I’ve not been sleeping well,” he admits. “Part of it’s all of this,” He gestures around him. “And partly it’s because I miss you.”

“I’m here,” Wes says. He lies down, and then places his forehead against the partition. It’s the closest they can get. “I’m here, Hobbs.”

“I know.”

.

**And One:**

Hobbie pulls up a chair. It scrapes along the floor of the medical ward, an uncomfortable sound. Hobbie settles in it awkwardly, at the bedside of his best friend, his wingman, his _partner_ in basically everything that damn well matters. He finds Wes’s hand, holds it tight, his delicate fingers running over Wes’s bruised knuckles.

It’s just like Wes, to stand in front of a blaster bolt meant for someone else. Just like him. He’s good at that sort of thing, playing the hero. Always one for dramatics, attracting needless attention. Hobbie is a quieter sort.

It’s usually him who ends up in the medbay, though. Not Wes. Hobbie hates to think how many hours Wes has sat, slept, by his side. Every time he’s injured, Wes is by his side when he wakes up, without fail. That’s how they operate. At each other’s sides, having each other’s back, every moment of every day. It’s how it’s been since almost the earliest days of Rogue Squadron. And then one day they’d fallen into bed, and that had never stopped either.

Hobbie’s been in love with Wes for a damn long time, and he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual, even if they’ve never really said any words to that effect. They’ve never really needed to.

He sits by Wes’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up, recollecting that awful feeling that had spiked through his body when Wes had gone down, Tycho suddenly appearing to pull Wes clear. He’d told Hobbie that Wes was still alive, that Wes was still breathing, but Hobbie had barely heard a word of it, too dazed with the thought that he could have lost Wes.

“Wake up, dammit,” Hobbie mutters. “I know you can bloody damn hear me, Wes, so kriffing wake up. I’ve got no desire to do any of this without you.” It’s the truth, though Hobbie doesn’t know how true it is until he’s said it, when a wave of emotion rises up inside of him. He lays his head on Wes’s bed, resting against Wes’s side, and begins to cry, overwhelmed by everything.

He loses track of time, like that, only jolted when he hears a voice, the voice he wants most to hear in the galaxy, speak. “Hobbie, are you _crying_ down there?”

“No!” Hobbie wipes his tears off on his jacket sleeve, and then wonders why on earth he’d denied it. “Yes.” He looks at Wes, who’s awake now, awake and with that awful smirk of his on his face. “You scared me, dammit!”

“Now you know how I feel, all the damn time.” Wes’s tone is light, but – Hobbie looks at him, and his expression has gone quietly serious. Wes does this, every time, and it’s been a hell of a lot of times.

“I love you,” Hobbie says, because if there was ever a moment he could say it, it’s now.

“Yeah, I know, Hobbs. Love you too.” Wes’s response is casual, but the feelings are anything but. He squeezes Hobbie’s hand, the one that’s still wrapped around his own. “Come here. I’m fine.”

Wes draws Hobbie in for a kiss, a deep one, that hopefully conveys all his emotions. Hobbie settles close to him, just listening to him breathe for long moments. He’s alive. They’re both alive.

That’s all that matters.


End file.
